


My Rhythm And Blues

by kjstark



Series: Football RPF one-shots [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, 2013 Confedaration's Cup, Angst, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FIFA World Cup 2014, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjstark/pseuds/kjstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet and it’s not flashing lights and sky rockets, only a friendly hand-shake and mutual passion for the beautiful game.<br/>They meet and they don’t know who the other is. They’re as normal as the next pair of guys is.<br/>They meet and it’s not love at first sight. Not even slight attraction. Just mutual consent of the other’s existence, and hope for no trouble.<br/>They meet with warm, innocent hearts and maybe that had been the problem.<br/>Because whenever Neymar ever thinks about it he goes back to the day when he met Oscar. And he knows that day doesn’t really hold much significance, they barely noticed each other, but he finds it simpler, easier. Oscar’s smile towards him is not private, not secret, not deep. He looks at it and he’s not melting, he’s okay.<br/>Which is, to say the least, far different from the now.<br/>Now Oscar smiles and it punches him in the face, just how much he loves this boy. Just how much he’s loved this boy for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're My Downfall (You're My Muse)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [overflow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/overflow/gifts).



> Disclaimer you need to read because I need to address more than a couple of things: 
> 
>   1. This work is heavily inspired by [China Doll](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2766827) by overflow (aka my dear Bella). I lie all responsabilities in her hands because she truly made me long for more angst after I was done reading her fic. She made want to explore this plot setting. This sort of way to see things. 
>   2. I had so many issues when I started writing this. Because it feels so deep into playing with someone's life,  actual someones, but then I thought: this is not really happening, this did not really happen, _I'm not wishing for this to have had happen,_ I'm merely playing with the idea for writing needs. Which is where I land: I, in no way, want any of this to be true. I love and appreciate both Oscar and Neymar and everything they've done or not done with their lives. I love mostly all of the decisions they've made, and I thank God every day for the fact that Ludy is in Oscar's life.   
>  I am just a girl, who loves a couple of boys in a tight football friendship, and uses their character personalities for her own lazy writing purposes. (I am so sorry, Ney and Oscar, if you ever see this!)
>   3. Now that I've gotten the second point off  my chest, I'm down to reasoning inside the insanity. 2012 is very much likely the cutest Neyscar year, 2013 not so much, they grew apart for a great deal of time there so I took this for my advantage. This is a mix between reality and fiction (not even hypothetical theories because I deadass don't want this to happen, ever). So yeah, you probably know this but: I do not own Oscar nor Neymar nor anyone near them. I don't know any of them. I'm just really good at research, and well, I have no life. 
>   4. This is not as my usual fics, I know. It's a compilation of feelings and thoughts and actions and dialogues but I hope you can keep up. Figure it as someone telling you a story, and it should be easier for you to catch on. 
>   5. English is not my main language.
>   6. ps. this is all Bella's fault. 
> 


They meet in 2010, in their last years of being teenagers, who arguably were made to have to be a little bit more grown-up than the rest of their other friends. ‘You have to do this’ ‘You need to get this’ ‘Success comes with sacrifice and dedication’. Neymar even had already welcomed a child to the world. But nonetheless it never changed his attitude, his carefree persona. They meet and Neymar knows Oscar’s probably around his age, so he almost instantly feels comfortable around him.

They meet and it’s not flashing lights and sky rockets, only a friendly hand-shake and mutual passion for the beautiful game.

They meet and they don’t know who the other is. They’re as normal as the next pair of guys is.

They meet and it’s not love at first sight. Not even slight attraction. Just mutual consent of the other’s existence, and hope for no trouble.

They meet with warm, innocent hearts and maybe that had been the problem.

Because whenever Neymar ever thinks about it he goes back to the day when he met Oscar. And he knows that day doesn’t really hold much significance, they barely noticed each other, but he finds it simpler, easier. Oscar’s smile towards him is not private, not secret, not deep. He looks at it and he’s not melting, he’s okay.

Which is, to say the least, far different from the now.

Now Oscar smiles and it punches him in the face, just how much he loves this boy. Just how much he’s loved this boy for so long.

 

They met in 2010, they kissed in 2012.

It’s sloppy, and weird, and awkward. But it’s new, Neymar reflects there, that it was new. That it was different. That it was _good_.

Oscar doesn’t know what to say at first, and he’s fighting against his legs begging him to run the hell away, Neymar perceives this before he notices how his own stomach closes tightly. A new sense to everything.

He touches Oscar’s lips to shut his nonsensical babble, because he suddenly wants to know how they feel at the tip of his fingers. Oscar falls so quiet that if it wasn’t for the fact that Neymar could feel his breath-ins and breath-outs he would’ve thought Oscar was pretty much dead. He rolls his index down the curve of Oscar’s bottom lip, already getting arid-ish. Neymar wets his own with his tongue and misses when Oscar follows the motion with his eyes, slowly swallowing as he does.

They kiss again then, and it’s messy and full of teeth and saliva. But it’s perfect. Better. Neymar didn’t admit it that night but he was already thinking of many ways he’d improve this with Oscar, just like he'd improve his football skills.

And when they get the same room during the Olympic Games, Neymar draws a critical point in his memory. Because it all escalated from there and then.

It catches Neymar of the sudden, when it’s 7am and they’re on fitting process, that he’s 11 and Oscar’s 10. It catches him, amusingly telling him, that they’re meant to be together.

And Oscar’s anything but short of tremendous. It’s mesmerizing, all the things the 20 year old can do. And Neymar is so unbelievably thankful to God that he got to share his career, God allow all of it, with a guy like Oscar next to him. He’s so grateful he’s Oscar’s 11. Which is why when ‘Oscraque’ slips from his lips that he can’t seem to regret it. And Oscar laughs and it’s melody to his ears.

“Fine, but only you get to call me that,” his unshakeable-ly shy self tells him. And then he caught him off guard with a chaste kiss before they leave their room again, to take on the world together.

They met in 2010, they created a mental connection in 2012.

And it was entertaining for everyone else to see. They put on a perfect show. They gained the ‘Future of Brazilian football’ title all by themselves.

And Oscar helps Neymar scores, does all the dirty job, and then still tells him he’s proud of him, that he’s amazing, that he’s so happy for him. And a bunch of things Neymar wants to tell Oscar back, but holds them in and only smiles.

And kisses him whenever he gets some time alone with him.

Oscar sucks on his bottom lip and then lets go of him with hungry eyes. Neymar’s insides protest but they both need to catch a break. And think straight.

Which is the last thing they end up doing, ever. Because as soon as Neymar drives his eyes up they meet Oscar’s brown, dilated ones. And Oscar’s cheeks are pinker than they get when he’s been running back and forth for 80 minutes in a grass field.

Neymar cracks a laugh because he’s nervous.

Oscar laughs along because he’s in love.

“We’re gonna be here for a while. Do you wanna play something?” Neymar offers, swallowing, not an inch back away from Oscar’s face. Oscar nods, happily. It’s easier when you step back to normal. But Neymar takes him by the hand, until they’re in front of the TV.

They played FIFA until midnight; they also played something quite more dangerous than that until the following year.

 

Neymar doesn’t notice it right away. Because there’s something inside of him that knows he should be asking questions, he should be having conversations. He should be addressing things, but it’s easier to pretend it’s nothing, to shrug it off as nothing.

Oscar talks to him in the same way when they’re alone and when they’re with other people. _‘You’re amazing’ ‘You’re special, Ney’ ‘You need to come with me to Chelsea’_

And he’d smile at him and hug him and nod. Because whenever he’s with Oscar, be with him is all he ever wants to do.

 

The game against Belarus is what clings to his heart whenever he’s breaking. Like a poison scattered on a flesh wound. The game against Belarus is what he now recognizes as the day he fell completely and utterly in love with his best teammate.

They met in 2010, they cuddled in one cold London night in 2012.

And he’s not sure what he told himself then, what he made himself believe. It is not normal for friends to cuddle like this, to sleep cuddled like this. It’s not normal for friends to kiss and touch and hug so kindly and private like they do.

He calls Davi one morning after one of those nights and he’s overjoyed. Davi’s barely talking now but he can say ‘Pai’ and Neymar’s heart skips a beat, or several, whenever he does. He thought he could never love such a tiny, little thing, but then he did.

“Tell him I said hi,” Oscar whispers, eyes still closed, his hand rubbing Neymar’s dressed thigh and he suddenly realizes he’s got morning wood. He suppresses any sort of problematic thought and choses awkward amusement, Oscar can’t see anyway.

It’s the first time Neymar talks about Oscar to his son. And it’s the first time the word ‘friend’ feels heavy on his tongue. Oscar doesn’t say anything, though, doesn’t even move. And Neymar figures that was a silent agreement.

 

They won the semifinal against South Korea and Neymar’s heart was jumping inside his ribcage.

Oscar was settling on his bed, ready to sleep, watching Neymar dance on his Brazil-branded sweatpants, laughing as he hummed song lyrics.

“How are you ready to sleep?” he questioned, unplugging one earbud from his ear. Oscar shrugged.

“I’m tired,” he admits.

“I know, but we won,” Neymar reminds, matter of fact. Oscar looks out the window, giggling into his bed sheets. Then he rests his head on his pillow.

“I know, and we still got one game to go. It’s wise that we rest,” he said, a bit serious. Neymar huffed.

“It’s wise that we rest,” he mimicked Oscar’s responsible and put-together attitude, all the while he walked towards him and knelt on the floor, beside him on his bed, caressing his cheek. “Why so serious?” he asked, fake-pouting. Oscar laughs for a second, and then buries his face in the pillow. Neymar’s grin only grows wider. “What?” he asks again, and Oscar shakes his head. “C’mon!” he begs, poking him on his ribs through the covers.

Oscar breathes out and sits up, hands clapped together. “I don’t want this to end. Us,” he says, honest to God. Neymar finishes falling spread on the carpet and looks into Oscar’s brown eyes.

There’s something to be said about Oscar’s eyes, about how much innocence but yet young wisdom they project. How much calm, much honesty. There’s something to be said about the beauty, usually dismissed, in brown eyes—Oscar’s specifically, but Neymar’s not good with words, never has been. So he stands up and kisses Oscar hard on the lips, and he’s not sure what he meant when he said ‘this’, but he knows that whatever Oscar’d want, he’ll give it.

They get caught up in the kiss too late to notice Danilo and Marcelo walking in on them, pandeiro and reco-reco in hands.

It’s awkward for five long minutes and the boys have a mental breakdown trying to think of a lie. Not that they need to because they were blessed with a good, friendly team. A nice, loving family.  

“Come on, guys, Pato called in for service to his room and we’re gonna celebrate a little,” Marcelo said, with his brand wide smile. Danilo made his reco-reco sound behind him, just as happy.

They met in 2010, their team found out the kissed in 2012.

And after they lost against Mexico, it became sort of an unspoken promise. To take down the world together.

But when Oscar went back to his club, and Neymar stayed back home, it all became lonelier.

Except that every now and then there was going to be a text on Neymar’s phone. About London streets, London people, London food. About Stamford Bridge and Oscar’s struggle to speak English.

Every night a hidden message of _‘I need you here’_ that Neymar was too afraid to understand. So he never did.

For the rest of the year, they stayed fine like that. Bond only growing tighter whenever they’d see each other. Cuddling together at night was now a tradition. For the rest of the year they didn’t address anything, they didn’t discuss anything, they didn’t acknowledge anything.

For the rest of the year they laughed and they kissed and it wasn’t until their very last day together that one of them came clean.

“I love you,” Oscar muttered, shaking his head, he was happy, agitated when it slipped, and when it did his face changed. Not because he said it aloud, but because it was hitting him too. Neymar had tears on his eyes from the laughter of mocking Oscar’s poor gamer skills, but as soon as the words got to his ears his face changed emotions.

He looked at Oscar’s face and saw a reflection of his own expression. He waited for Oscar to say something but in the back of his mind something told him that that wasn’t how it worked.

Neymar’s voice fails him in a critical moment again, so he kisses Oscar out of desperation and anger at himself. He gives him the tightest hug he’d ever given to someone and waits for his heart to beat steady.

They met in 2010, Neymar goes to Barcelona on 2013.


	2. You're My End And My Beginning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2013.

And when his father looks at him with a wide smile and watering eyes he thinks he’s sinking. Because things changed so fast, so much, it broke his floor in millions of pieces and he was left hanging.

Everything slipped from him like sand going through your fingers. It’s leaves you dusty, dirty, but it leaves you nonetheless.

He’s not sure if he made that decision or if it was made for him. He’s not resentful, but he’s afraid. He’s so afraid he’s sweating when he gets to the airport.

“Take off your coat. Spain is not as cold as other European countries, honey,” his mom tells him with a sweet smile. With the corner of his eye he can see Rafaella taking a selfie, making a peace sign.

They help him settle for a whole month. But after that they’re gone.

He has a nice house, a promising career, and a panic attack bubbling up inside him.

They met in 2010, Oscar doesn’t text Neymar in 2013.

And with arrivals of new people in the Selecao’s coaching staff someone decides it’s _fine_ to give Neymar the #10 jersey.

His father tells him one afternoon, in form of gossip. But one week before their first friendly of the year they call him to tell him and inside his throat someone’s muttering _‘no, no, no_ ’.

It’s far too late to do anything, if there could anything be done.

Neymar’s out to dinner when he sees him again. Oscar gives him a small smile and keeps on looking at Willian’s face while he's talking.

Dani, possibly his right-hand man by this point, comes from behind and tells him to sit next to him. Oscar’s sitting with David, anyway, so he does.

 

“I’m okay with it. Just for the record,” Oscar tells Neymar from the other end of the room, just before they go out to play. #11 on his chest.

And it hits Neymar again, not so ironically: they are meant to be together.

But Oscar’s not smiling. There are wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, bags under them, too, and he’s wondering when did Oscar start looking so old? How many time has passed?

Oscar stands there for a while waiting for Neymar to say something, always waiting for him to say something. Something he’s never said, and why is Oscar trying anymore?

They met in 2010, Neymar doesn’t speak to Oscar about Barcelona, or anything, in 2013.

It’s only in his birthday that Oscar so much as touches him kindly again.

“Take a picture with me,” he says, laughing at his own ridiculousness. Neymar poses and for a long time everything’s fine again, and they’re not awkward around the other. “I’m posting it on Instagram,” he shares, sticking his tongue out.

“You? On social networks already?” Neymar jokes and Oscar’s shrugging, and then punching Neymar lightly on the shoulder. “I missed you,” he says, cool, but desperately inside.

Oscar raises his head from his phone screen and locks eyes with him. This time he’s the one who says nothing.

Neymar thinks he had it coming.

They met in 2010, they brake their promise of taking the world together in 2013.

Oscar sees Neymar a lot now, on TV. He hears his voice, he watches hairstyle after hairstyle changing. He knows everything about him, how he’s doing, where he’s at, who he's with, only by turning on the tv or looking on the internet.

David knows he’s not fine. David asks, waits, tries to listen. But Oscar only shares so little.

“We stopped being close, I don’t know,” he says, shrugging, his heart sinking. David makes a joke later; trying to cheer him, and he’s glad he has David. But he never tells him he cries at night when he can’t text Neymar.

And if only he knew he missed him as much as he did. If only Oscar knew Neymar was dying just like he was.

English is hard enough, but he never stops to think that Spanish isn’t any easier. And Neymar never tells him either.

They met in 2010, they are different in 2013.

It’s one entire month of dedication to the beautiful game. And they do fine ignoring their feelings-- seeking success, seeking triumph. They don’t need drama, they need efficiency and focus.

And on the pitch they can pretend just fine.

Neymar’s fine doing a show all by himself and Oscar’s normally shy self is fine staying behind.

They win the tournament, they send the message: they’re not going down easy in next year’s World Cup.

Neymar celebrates with the crowd and so does Oscar, and for one single moment that's all that matters.

They met in 2010, they kiss again in 2013.

But it’s bad. It’s for all the wrong reasons. Oscar doesn’t want to hear Neymar’s excuses, not anymore, not now, not when he’s mad at him. They didn’t address the issue when they should’ve, why were they going to do it now? Because they can’t take it anymore, maybe.

So Oscar shuts Neymar’s never coming words and has him slammed against their hotel room, thirty minutes before practice, and he wants to suck the life out of him through his kiss.

It’s so messy he’s dropping tears in Neymar’s cheeks, but Neymar’s pressing harder. Messing up the collar of his shirt as he pulls him closer than possible, and Oscar’s kicking the floor beneath him with the heel of his foot.

So he pulls away, loosing. And Neymar’s bottom lip is bleeding, and his hair’s a mess.

He’s so mad at himself for allowing himself to fall for Neymar, but he’s far angrier at Neymar for not catching him.

“What’s wrong?” he gasps, and Oscar scoffs.

“Us,” he answers, nodding at him. And Neymar lets his head fall to one side for a second, looking at his eyes with utter sadness, and then shakes his head. Before he can't stop it, he has Neymar’s hands grabbing his face and taking his mouth, unable to let go. Ever.

He pushes Oscar onto the bed before they notice what’s happening.

They met in 2010, they made love in 2013.

It’s not great, it’s hard to do, but they had more than one good incentive, so it works for both of them, and it works faster than usual.

It also takes a heavy weight off both their shoulders, leaving them boneless not only physically but also mentally. And before Neymar starts to regret everything he’s done, Oscar’s walking out the door.

Neymar’s felt disappointment, sadness before, but he couldn’t recall any of those times when he buried himself in his bed later that day, and for the first time in nearly ten years, he cried a lot. 

Oscar left marks on his neck, and his heart. 

 

“It’s been enough. I’m spent,” Oscar tells him, looking down to his feet, before they leave the hotel to head to the airport, everyone taking their respective planes to the other side of the world. Neymar nods, he doesn’t understand but Oscar wants him to, so he does.

“I get it,” but he doesn’t. Oscar looks at him then, and the innocent brown eyes are anywhere but in the surface. Now they’re just tired, and sad, _so_ sad.

“Did you ever --,”

“I do.” Neymar interrupts him before he even finishes his question. Oscar makes a swallowed sort of expression before he looks down, and leaves. Not even saying goodbye.

 

They met in 2010, Oscar reunites with a childhood friend in 2013.

And it could be reason of argument, that he began seeing Ludy regularly every week, because he was lonely. It could be arguable that he slept with her out of loneliness. But if he didn’t have to bare waking up alone one more cold morning, then he wasn’t regretting anything.

Not even when she told him she was expecting his child.

“You don’t have to be with me if you don’t want to, I know we’re not like dating or anything,” she said, but her voice was shaking. And he was scared too.

“Do you wanna have it?”

Nod.

Oscar breathed out, and smiled. He was going to be a dad.

 

He looked up to the sky one afternoon when they left their first doctor’s appointment. Everything was fine, and Ludy was going to have no problem.

He took her invitation to go to Brazil whenever he had some time and they went there for two days.

Ludy visited her family.

Oscar went to his father’s grave.

“It’s been a while since I was here, I know,” he told his material rock form, hoping above him in heaven the actual man was listening to him. “I’m fine, everything’s good…I’m gonna be a dad!” he said, his voice breaking. For a while he hadn’t known happiness.  For a while he hadn’t known love.

They went back to London together, but when Ludy told him she was buying a condo for her own he didn’t refute anything. Only asked her if she thought it was necessary, if she felt it'd make her happy.

She placed one hand on his cheek, and in the most caring way she could muster she said: “I don’t want to be happy with someone who’s not as happy with me back.” Oscar could’ve said he could change, because she deserved it. He deserved it. But he would be lying, and that wasn’t fair.

He’s had his own share of lies—so he never lies anymore.

They met in 2010, they see each other again in almost the middle of 2013.

Neymar’s feet are twitching inside his shoes; he’s trying to keep himself steady.

He meets Oscar at last in the hotel’s reception and he loses his balance. He’s grown a bit built, he has a new haircut, he’s not tired, he’s not miserable as the last time he saw him.

Before he knows they’re the only people in the room, and Neymar can’t help himself from trying to reach and kiss him.

Oscar stops him halfway through with a statement. “I’m having a child,” he says, holding in his excitement. He’s healed from Neymar, he no longer needs him to be complete.

Neymar stands still and looks anywhere but into his eyes. Too many thoughts going through his head. Too many possibilities.

Neymar falls to a small couch near him. Oscar doesn’t say anything, so Neymar thinks ‘screw it’

“It’s my fault. I had this coming,” he begins, Oscar’s reaching him, “I should’ve told you what you meant-- what you _mean_ to me. I should’ve said I love you back, ‘cause I did. ‘Cause I do. I --,”

“ _Ney,_ ” Oscar calls him quietly, and it’s foreign, it’s been so long since he’s heard him say that, like that. “It’s not,” he cracks a laugh, “it’s not like that… I’m not—she doesn’t want to be with me,” he admits.

Neymar frowns. “Why?” he almost yells.

Oscar doesn’t tell him the truth, not the entire of it. “She says it’s not going to make her happy,” Neymar nods, still frowning, but doesn’t say much for a while. Oscar’s smile never leaves his face, though.

Neymar laughs nervously after a while, rubbing the back of his head. It’s been a long time coming.

“So you’re going to be a dad,” he stated, Oscar nodded like a maniac. “Congrats,” he says, between a laugh. It’s better to laugh, it’s better to smile. They’re gonna fix things, they’re gonna make things better. They have the chance. “Can I give you a hug?” Neymar asks, and he’s not afraid. Oscar nods.

“I think it’d be weird if you didn’t. And I’m tired of weird.”

They met in 2010 with a friendly hand-shake, they built themselves up again in 2013 with a friendly hug.

But Neymar knows is not enough. He feels it’s not enough. They’re in the same room but they’re not together, they’re next to each other but not it’s not like before.

Neymar’s comfortable in Barcelona more and more. He has Christmas dinner with his team and he’s not entirely un-happy. He calls his son, he calls his family. He texts his friends, Oscar included, and it doesn’t feel wrong.

Except that when Oscar doesn’t reply, it does.

But it’s fine, because being Oscar’s friend is better than not being able to speak to him without feeling awkward. Being Oscar’s friend is better than being nothing.

That’s the thing Neymar always goes back to, whenever he’s thinking, considering what he did wrong. He goes back to being Oscar’s friend, goes back to being able to be honest to him, to joke, to fool around him. To being comfortable around him like the very first time.

Neymar’s unsure of many things in his life. But something he’s sure about is that he wants, he _needs_ , to be with Oscar in any sort of way. He needs Oscar in his life, in a good way, and he doesn’t care which way he has him.

He sits on his leather couch watching his recordings of Oscar’s games at Chelsea, caressing a glass of red wine. He taps on his phone before he can regret it and dials Oscar’s number, answering machine doing its job.

“I was just watching your game against Southampton. I saw the little ball baby belly thing,” he laughs to the phone. “the goal was amazing. I mean, you are. It’s been a while since I said that without a knot inside my throat. It’s been a while since _you_ are not a knot inside my throat. Anyway, I was thinking about what you said the other day,” he sighs into the microphone, “about us not being weird. I’m tired of it, too. I’m so tired. So, get back to me when you get this, because I miss everything we used to be before everything got messed up, I don’t even know. There’s a promise we made somewhere along the way? Yeah, well, I wanna keep it,” and Neymar knows he’s crossing lines, he knows the message can get mistaken, he doesn’t want that so he adds: “whatever. Happy rest of the holidays, _Oscraqueee_ ,” and he taps on his phone and blocks it. He feels quietness in his chest, like the start of something he doesn’t quite grasp.

When he wakes up there’s a message on his voicemail.

“Hey I couldn’t answer you yesterday ‘cause we were having a party at David’s and I left my phone here in the apartment,” there’s an embarrassed laugh, and Neymar smiles along with it. “Anyway, I’m fine, thanks, that game was much fun. Please, stop watching me on TV it makes me feel weird,” and he laughs again, and Neymar didn’t realize how much he’s missed that laugh. “About what you said, though, I wanna keep the promise, too. So no more awkwardness,” he says, asking tone. “Happy rest of holidays for you too, Ney. Say hi to Davi and your family for me,” and he can almost picture Oscar's goofy, innocent, wide smile.

They met in 2010, they start 2014 in a nice, healthy way. 


	3. Even When I Lose I'm Winning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2014.

Neymar doesn’t admit right away that it’s not enough for him. Not even to himself. But Dani notices because Dani knows everything, and he knows Neymar like the back of his hand. And Dani’s never been good at keeping things to himself just for the sake of being polite.

“Why don’t you just, like, go out and shit?” he says, licking a lollipop. They’re at his place, free for two days before they have to train again for a Liga game. Neymar just hung up on the pizza place.

Dani’s looking at Neymar’s laptop background, it’s a picture of him and Oscar during the 2012 Olympics, they’re both celebrating together – it’s the game against Belarus. Neymar saved the picture when he saw it somewhere and then set it as his background image two days ago.

“What are you talking about?” Neymar asks, but he doesn’t really wanna have this conversation. Dani shots him a glare from his laptop.

“You being gay for Oscar,” he states. Neymar swallows because that something he’s never heard before. He’s never had to label himself, because it’s not important to him, if he’s one thing or the other. He was taught to love one self, love God, and love your neighbor. So he didn’t need any hate-tainted labels, and no one really should have to.

“Do you think I can ask Marc to come over and bring some brownies?” Neymar asks instead, from the kitchen island. Dani closes the laptop, amused grin turning into a seriousness gesture.

“You know I’m, like, super okay with whatever it is you are, right?” Dani says instead, Neymar looks at him finally.

“I know, Dani. I just,” he shrugs, it’s not that he’s ashamed of being a guy and liking a guy. He’s ashamed that he’s Neymar and he likes Oscar, and he let him go. He let him got away, without even putting a fight, without saying anything. He lost his only good chance to have something real and he was the only one to blame. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Daniel Alves was not about letting anything go easy. Neymar nodded, silently. Dani followed the motion himself. “Was it good or bad?”

“Bit of both,” he answers, somewhat casually.

“Are you okay now, though?” He pushed just about the one button.

Neymar looked at his friend in the eyes, hoping they’d help him express better. He allowed everything to show for the briefest moment; sadness, sorrow, emptiness, disappointment, regret, and lastly unconformity.

Above all he was, he was inconforme with what he had now, because it was so little. Months ago it seemed like a lot, like more than enough, but now it left a bittersweet taste at the tip of his tongue, an empty stomach.

And a needy heart.

Neymar fell silent for so long Dani took the hint and just lowered his head, biting his cheek.

They met in 2010, Neymar talked to someone about his feelings for the first time in 2014.

However they didn’t get much time to dwell on their feelings because they started getting focused on more important matters.

Oscar became a dad in June, and then right after that, they started seeking one unique goal, and for two or so months it was the only thing that mattered. They were following a collective dream, and that was the only thing in their minds.

They got so focused on the World Cup tournament they missed the moment when they started growing closer and closer than before.

They were being interviewed by Ronaldo and Oscar kept brushing his fingers against his hand and Neymar kept laughing like a goof, because what else could he do?

He was saying Oscar was amazing out loud. He was calling him ‘Oscraque’ again. He was falling over and over him again. And he was watching Oscar closely this time, his ‘crack’ nickname fitting him better and better every day.

Neymar remembered being glad he was Oscar’s 11, now he’s glad that Oscar’s his 11.

They met in 2010, Neymar admitted they were a good pair in 2014.  

But it’s tougher than they considered. Everyone’s ten times better than they thought, but they make it through the group phase and Oscar’s never been so stressed in his life before.

Neymar gives him a smile, and squeezes his hand after they’re done exercising in the pool. And Oscar’s not sure if it’s because he’s wet, freezing, and naked, but something inside him melts again. And he lets it.

They met in 2010, Oscar feels all kinds of defeated in 2014.

He kneels in front of him and everything’s wrong again. Except that this time it’s not their fault, it’s someone else’s. Except that this time it wasn’t Neymar’s heart metaphorically breaking, but his very back literally breaking.

And Oscar was saying goodbye to him before the right time, and he didn’t, not before, not now, not ever, want to leave Neymar. He didn’t want to fight for this without him on his side. Because he’s way better at everything whenever Neymar’s around him.

Neymar rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, my dream’s not over yet, don’t let yours be put on hold for me. Oscar,” he whispers, making him move his face so he can look at it. “the team needs you. I need you to be your 100% in the next game, can you do that for me?” and it was unfair, unrealistic, for Neymar to request such a thing.

But Oscar would do pretty much anything for him. No questions asked.

They met in 2010, Oscar dissapoints Neymar, his team, his nation, and himself in 2014.

He’s forever marked with the burden, even when he was arguably the only one putting an actual effort there back then, it doesn't matter. Oscar remembers the whole thing in slow, cutting pieces. He collects all the pain he’s felt before and compares it to the panic attack he went through in the shower after the game was over. Not the same, by far.

But he realizes he’s more mature accepting his mistakes this time. He realizes he knows how to deal with disappointment and embarrassment now. And he never thought he’d thank Neymar for hurting him when he was more naïve, but there he was.

Because in losing he goes back to what he still has, he realizes you find strenght in your moments of weakness, and he finds his balance this time.

They met in 2010 and it’s 2014 and they’re still together, clinging to the other like a drowning man to a lifesaver. 

It’s in Vienna, out of all places, when it happens. Neymar’s talking to his mother on the phone when Oscar sees his #10 shirt. He left it in Neymar’s dad’s car after one practice. And Neymar kept it for almost five years now.

When Neymar hangs up on the phone Oscar’s pointing at the shirt peeking out of his suitcase. Neymar frowns at him and then it before he notices.

“How did that got there?” he asked aloud, running to grab it. Oscar was not moving from his spot.

“Why did you keep that?” he wondered, fighting the knot forming inside his throat.

Neymar smiled without looking him, not wanting to coward-up. “It reminds me of innocence, and...it smells like you,” he admits, moving his finger through the fabric of the shirt.

If Neymar could get a time machine with all the money he’s got now, he would make everything right.

When he looked up to see Oscar biting his lower lip making a sort of constipated face, he wasn’t much surprised. “Look, Ney--,”

“I know what you’re going to say to me,” he cut him. Oscar was stepping into his space now.

“Then let me say it,” he refuted, taking his head with his hands. Why was Oscar taller than him? Why was he so vulnerable but yet strong around him? “We’re not kids anymore, Ney. We can’t keep doing this, we – I don’t want to keep doing this,” he imposed.

Neymar’s eyes were down despite that his head wasn’t, because of Oscar’s hold. But as soon as Oscar finished, it hit him, so he drew his eyes up, and he bit his own lip. “What’s ‘this’?” he asked, a little aggressively. “I mean, when you say ‘this’, what do you mean exactly?” And Oscar was dropping his hands from Neymar’s face so he continues. Screw it all. “What are we, Oscar?” he asks, to someone who’s looking directly at him but has no shown emotion on his face. “Are we friends? Are we not friends?” Oscar’s eyebrows go downwards, unsure of how to react. So Neymar reaches over to him, grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him for a long since coming kiss. He pulls Oscar’s bottom lip a little when he’s over, release filling up his clouded mind. “Are we lovers?” he whispers against Oscar’s neck when he’s hugging him. And he’s not even sure if he’s asking, or begging. But he doesn’t care anymore.

Oscar pulls away from the hug to kiss his face, and Neymar’s heart finally rests easy. He kisses his dry-tears’ed cheeks, caressing the back of his head. “We’re anything, everything. We’re friends,” kiss, “we’re teammates,” kiss, “we’re soulmates,” Oscar finishes with a small shrug before Neymar pulls him again for a hug, so hard he’s almost throwing himself at him.

“We’re gonna fix this,” Neymar whispers against Oscar’s neck, and he means everything. Because a lot of things needed rebuilding, reconstructing. And they could only get that done together. “Starting with our football reputation,” he said, letting go of Oscar’s arms.

He walked to unplug his laptop from the charger cable and took it in his arms.

“What are you doing?” Oscar asked, the beginnings of laughter bobbling up inside him.

“There are some videos of Ronaldinho I was thinking we could see,” Neymar offers, and before Oscar can consider it kinda of silly – everyone in their team is leaving to see the city—Neymar has him laying the floor, with no shoes.

Neymar taps on a video and when it starts playing he rests his head on Oscar’s shoulder, and he thinks he could stay like this forever.

They met in 2010 and they’re gonna be together for way more than that.  

**Author's Note:**

> Titles of the fic and the chapters are from John Legend's "All Of Me", which amusingly enough Neymar posted a video of him singing this on his instagram a while ago.


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